


Funebra

by blua and oro (vehlr)



Series: Blue & Gold XY-XX - Mainverse [2]
Category: Blue Beetle (Comics), Booster Gold (Comics), DCU (Comics), Justice League International (Comics)
Genre: F/M, Wakes & Funerals
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-17
Updated: 2014-08-17
Packaged: 2018-02-13 13:38:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,681
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2152734
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vehlr/pseuds/blua%20and%20oro
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>(funeral) - Booster Gold hates goodbyes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Funebra

She adjusts her collar one last time as the doors to the small church open. Beside her, Diana rests a hand on her shoulder and Clark offers her his arm, but she shakes her head. This is something she has to do on her own. They head in, and she wonders how they can possibly still stand. She feels sick. This should not be happening. This day should _never_ have come.

_Time to say goodbye._

She walks slowly up the aisle. Around her, the faces of their friends look to her, but she cannot meet their eyes. Kara does not even try to stop her tears, whilst Guy and Bea hold hands tightly. Jonn, stoic as ever, offers her a small nod of condolence – she always knew that he knew the truth of her when it came to Ted. She can hear Mary's soft sobbing, Diana's murmured prayers, Oberon's shuffling feet. Barbara, dressed in a suit that looks too clean, looks to Bruce, but he does not move. She wonders what he is thinking. She hopes he feels as shit as she does.

And, of course, at the end of the aisle is her best friend – her first real and true friend, now gone from the world, never to laugh at her terrible jokes or to stand back-to-back with her in the heat of battle. _Ted Kord, deceased_. The flowers adorning the coffin are red and white, and she reaches out to touch them lightly. Her heart is hurting at the realisation that there are so many conversations they will now never have. She will never get to tell him that he would always be her greatest friend. She will no longer get to tell him that they won, that Rocket Red died, that Wonder Woman avenged him, that – that she loves him. She will never get to tell him that she loves him.

Her hand falls to her side, and Diana coaxes her away, hands gentle on her. She had a way with grief – it was a side that rarely came out, but was always perfectly executed at the right time. They embrace before taking their seats, Oberon sliding in next to them. In the back of her mind, she is acutely aware of who should have been sitting in his place. The man who might once have been a friend.

_Another dead man._

The ceremony begins with a clergyman who had never met the irreplaceable man extolling his virtues – as a man from a line of smart businessmen to a hero in his own right, the highlights of Ted's life were kept brief. His coma was glossed over. His technological heroics in saving Booster Gold's life were barely mentioned. His time with the Birds of Prey were footnotes. But then, she thinks, they all know the stories – they all had their own, their private tales of Ted the tech, Ted the hero, Ted the funny guy. They did not need to hear a stranger tell them.

Superman tells them of the hero – the man who had stood shoulder to shoulder with the Justice League, had taken on Doomsday and been left in a coma for his troubles. He tells them of the Blue Beetle, and how his final acts had saved all of their lives.

Jonn tells them of the comrade – the man who had saved countless lives with his brains, who always had a good word for his friends, who could be counted upon in a pinch. He tells them of Theodore Kord, the genius.

All eyes turn to Booster Gold as she stands up, each step to the pulpit painful. She should tell them about the man, she thinks – the friend, the comedian, the guy who struggled to make ends meet and never complained. She should tell them about Ted, her best friend. But as she faces them all, she stops and closes her eyes. She has so much to say to them all – to Diana, who avenged him ( _thank you for doing what had to be done_ ), to Barbara who enraptured him ( _did you give him enough? It's alright, I know you didn't love him that way_ ), to her oldest friends ( _Guy, he really did like you, even if you were an ass_ ) and her dearest allies ( _he was better than this, why couldn't you see that?_ ) - and to the man who had set the tragedy in motion, she has no words. But nothing feels right. She cannot say any of these things because none of them convey the truth – that Ted Kord should not be dead, and that she is not ready to live in a world where her best friend is a memory.

_Ted... I'm not ready to say goodbye._

She shakes her head slightly, stepping back. Her fists clench and she takes a deep breath, and the steps towards the back of the church seem a lot quicker under her feet.

“Michelle.” She expects Diana, but it is Superman who comes to her, feet on the floor for once. “It's alright. We understand.”

“I don't.” She rubs at her eyes. “I don't understand. Where was everyone when he needed them? He... he came to all of you for help. So why is he in a casket? Why?”

“You're angry because we failed him.” His hands take hold of her arms gently. “You're upset because we didn't do enough, and you're right. We should have done a lot more. I understand that.”

“But you're also angry at yourself,” murmurs Diana, standing shoulder to shoulder with Superman. “You believe that your absence from his final moments is the cause of his death, and you are wrong.”

The man continues. “You were in the hospital, Booster. You can't hold yourself accountable here. Let go of your anger.”

“It's what Ted would want,” finishes the Amazon, and Michelle pulls away from the pair of them, turning to face them. Behind them, she can see each and every one of her friends, the worry and sorrow all over their faces.

“I _should_ have been there. I should have...” She shakes her head, voice choked with the tears she wants to release. “He shouldn't have been alone,” she whispers. “I... I should have...”

“Michelle, you had no idea...”

“He's dead, and... he was all alone.” She swallows, before reaching for the door. “I can't do this.” And nobody protests as she leaves the small chapel.

***

The few candles flicker as the small draught from the door sweeps through the room. It is quiet and empty now, and the flowers are beginning to wilt, but Michelle has eyes only for the coffin. She moves quickly and quietly, stopping just short of the altar. Reaching for the picture, she smiles weakly.

“Not your best,” she murmurs gently. “They should have gotten that one I snapped on Kooey Kooey Kooey, with your hair all messed up and that big laugh. That was a good picture.” She strokes the frame regardless, sinking to the floor lightly and crossing her legs.

“Sorry about earlier. I know I'm a disappointment, but... I didn't expect it to be so hard.” She sucks in a deep breath before letting it out in a whoosh. “Wow, this is still really hard. I mean... when Sue... when Sue died, that was a bad day. I remember sitting over there with you. We couldn't believe it. Not good old Sue. Not _our_ Sue. But this...” She pulls her goggles off, wiping at her eyes. “I can't... I'm not okay with this. You're not sat here with me, and I'm... I'm just waiting for you to come through that door and smile, to tell me it was all a big joke, it was just another coma. I just... I just want you to tell me it's – it's all okay.” She cradles the photo, staring at his face. It feels a little easier than talking to the casket., but that sense of weight hangs over her shoulders. Time had run out, and she was left in the dark on her own.

The silence stretches out for a long time before she finds the next words. “I wish I'd told you... I mean, Sue died knowing she was loved... how could she _not_ know? Ralph... he showed her every day. They were such sweethearts. And Barbara... I wish she loved you even half as much as I do... it's not fair that you... that you didn't have that...” And it was not Barbara's fault, really. Ted had always loved women on a pedestal – she smiles slightly as she remembers all the failed flirtations with Diana – and had often been overlooked. She wonders if that was ever her fault.

The wooden door creaks slightly, and she turns her head so fast the candlelights blur. But it does not open. The wind has simply cooled the wood, causing the hinges to squeal. She blinks, her vision blurring further from the sudden influx of tears. Her head drops, her voice quiet. She had hoped for something impossible, and the reality of this new dark world was finally sinking in. She looks up, finally, at the casket. “I wish... shit, I wish you weren't _dead_ , Ted... just... come back... Superman did it, right? So you can too... _please_... come back, Ted...”

There is a soft noise, light feet on the stone, and then there are arms around her as she falls apart. Her chest screams for air as the sobs wrack her body, huge ugly hiccoughs that echo in the hall. She clings to the arms, head buried in the crook of the man's shoulder. She cries and cries and does not dare to look up – for if it is not her best friend, she will surely break. But the man strokes her hair lightly in a way that is unfamiliar, and tells her that he is sorry in a desperately quiet voice, and somewhere between the last chime of midnight and the new dawn she falls asleep.

She will not remember Bruce taking the picture from her fingers as he carries her out of the chapel.


End file.
